WILD WILD WEST: The Night of the Devil's Pitchfork
by Dan Bivens
Summary: James West and Artemus Gordon head for their latest, possibly their strangest, mission to date. What will they find in a town that has, overnight, become akin to a ghost town?
1. Chapter 1

Special Secret Service Agent James West was just putting on his form-fitting, tailored blue suit as the special 4-4-0 train named Lyro was on its way to a yet-unknown mission that would make use of the dual agents and friends, Mr. West and Artemus Gordon.

Aretemus Gordon was already sitting at a table, eating a very tantalizing gormet breakfast, and drinking lightly sweetened-and-creamed hot cup of coffee.

"Good morning, Artemus," said a smiling, exceptionally handsome Jim West as he sat on the other side of the table, pouring himself a black cup of coffee. Waiting patiently for Artemus to wash down the thoroughly chewed food in his mouth, before answering in a friendly manner only reserved for the best of buddies.

"Good morning, Jim," replied Artemus Gordon, while gesturing toward the collection of comestibles on silver platters, with equally silver domed covers helping to keep all the food warm and delectible. "Want some Eggs Florentine. The added spinach is at just the right amount. And the Cumberland sausages are an 85-percent balance, with absolutely delicious spices and herbs making up the rest. Mm-mm."

"Yeah, sure, Artie," replied Jim West with a smile still adorning his exceedingly handsome, and tanned, face. "Any word on what our next assignment happens to be...and where?"

"No," answered Artemus Gordon, in-between bites washed down by incredibly tasty coffee. "The telegraph's been exeptionally quiet so far."

"Maybe, this one time," responded Jim, even as he spooned over, onto his clean plate, some Eggs Florentine, and a cut-off hunk of Cumberland sausage, "we'll arrive in a town that's not in the throes of some sort of villainy that the local authorities can't take care of."

"Maybe," replied Artemus, as he spooned himself over some more Eggs Florentine and cut-off Cumberland sausage. "Maybe not. That's why I'm going to enjoy this breakfast, while I can."

Just then, as if the gods were mocking them and their hopes for a peaceful rest in the next town, the hidden-in-fake-books, on a desk closer to the entrance/exit from this special train car, began tick-tacking in a manner to gain immediate attention.

"Guess we both spoke a little too soon, Artie."

"Guess so, Jim."

Jim West gives a little self-amused chuckle, even as both of them dabbed their mouths with the fine linen lap-cloths, before tossing them onto the table, and making their way to the desk in question.

After opening up the fake books, and exposing, fully, the still tick-tacking wireless telegraph device, used to tell them about some sort of dire situation for them to solve, Artemus Gordon, after seating himself at that self-same desk, tick-tacked back for those at the other end to proceed with their message.

The tick-tacking now took on a more readable, and understandable, pace, as Artemus wrote down the letters and words it related. Until, at last, the entire message was fully formed and understood...

"Come on, Artie," asked Jim West of his longtime friend and colleague. "What's the bad news?"

"Well," heavily sighed Artemus Gordon, "it seems that a small town a few more minutes up the rails, called Devil's Pitchfork, has fallen silent for the past several days. We're supposed to stop and check it out. Take whatever steps are necessary to help out whomever is still there...if anyone at all...then file our report via the telegraph here in this train car."

"Well," also sighed, more heavily than Artemus moments before, Jim as he walked over to retrieve his favored hand gun, already in its holster, which he put on and tied down for quick-draw action, should such become necessary, "time to gear up and, once we stop, get the horses off their traveling car in order to make our way into the Devil's Pitchfork."

Having closed the fake books about their wireless telegraph, Artemus also retrieved his holstered weapon in order to put it on and tie it down, much as Jim had just done...

"Let's just hope that the town doesn't live up to his nefarious name, my friend."


	2. Chapter 2

Minutes after the train transporting two Special Secret Service agents, and their horses, came to a squealing stop at the small, and desserted, train station, they were on their horses riding into the town of Devil's Pitchfork.

Riding side-by-side, more-or-less, Artemus Gordon and Jim West spoke in asides just loud enough to be heard above the clip-clopping of their horses' hoves...

"Are you getting any bad feelings about this one, Artie?"

"I hate to admit to it, but yeah...I do."

"We should be riding across the town's outermost edge in a few more minutes," Jim said with another heavy sigh.

"Yeah," replied an equally tense Artemus. "We should be seeing buildings at any moment."

As if on cue, again, the outermost edge of Devil's Pitchfork rose into view...

"There it is, Artie."

"Yeah, so I see. Ready, Jim?"

"As ready as I'll ever be, Artie."

Falling into an eerie silence, the two rode into a recently created, by some as yet unknown manner, ghost town. A fact that was not lost on these two agents of the United States government.

As they brought their respective steeds to a slow halt, the two listened intently on the sound of anyone at all still living in this town.

They heard nothing at all. Save for the blowing of a mediocre wind through the main dirt street, as well as the adjoining side dirt streets and alleyways.

Absolutely desserted.

Artemus and Jim rode their horses up to the nearest hitching post, then climbed off and lashed their horses' reins around the horizontal wooden bar...

Then, after absently adjusting their gun belts, walked into the first public bulding, a grocery store called "Willy's Grocery", as far as the sign said attached to the roof overhang protecting the wooden sidewalk, running before several buildings at a time.

Shielding citizenry and patrons from both the heat of the sun beating down, as well as rains that came about more-or-less steadily during certain parts of the year.

After opening the door, Jim and Artemus stepped inside...

"Hello!" called out Artemus. "Anyone here?"

After waiting an unnervingly long time before moving or speaking, Jim and Artemus made their way through the amply supplied store, looking for any clue as to what had happened to the store keeper named Willy...

"Nothing," finally succinty stated Artemus, even as Jim took a closer look behind the all-wood counter. "What are you looking for, Jim?"

"Anything that will shed some light on what the hell's going on in this town, Artie."

After being joined by Artemus, so the two could search in opposite directions behind said counter, the two came to the self-same set of conclusions...

"Whatever happened," began Jim for the both of them, adjusting the cowboy hat of blue, which matched his form-fitting suit, upon his handsome head, "it happened fast. There's no sign of a struggle. No blood."

"Yeah," agreed Artemus, as he opened the metal cash register to see the contents of the till, "and there's still money here."

After slamming the till shut, the two step out from behind the counter, to stand silently once again, in the middle of "Willy's Grocery". Suddenly, there is a sound coming from the back of said grocery store...

Causing both Artemus and Jim to pull their guns, quickly and with a specific purpose, as they quickly, although quietly, made their way toward the rear rooms of the grocery store.

Cautiously, yet quickly.

Finally entering the rear rooms, where Willy the grocer apparently lived and slept, Jim and Artemus found the source of the sound, which had brought them both back...

An overturned wooden chair, that looked as if someone had purposely knocked it over. That made Jim and Artemus more tense than they already were.

Something was playing with them. Toying with them. Leading them.

"What do you think, Jim?" asked Artemus in a hushed aside to his friend and collegue.

"The same as you, Artie," answered Jim West reservedly, also in a hushed aside. "Someone's still in this town. And they don't want to be found. Just yet."

"Well, let's not keep whomever it is waiting, Jim."

"Yeah," tensely nodded Jim without looking at Artemus. "Let's not."


	3. Chapter 3

Jim West and Artemus Gordon checked out a couple of buildings together. But Jim came to the conclusion that such would go better, if they split up.

"Artie, you go across the street and check those buildings out, while I continue checking out the buildings on this side of the street."

"Sure thing, Jim."

Artemus began walking across the dirt street, making his way toward one of the first buildings to run parallel to Jim's side, in order to check it out for any survivors.

Even though neither Special Secret Service agents had the foggiest notion as to why the finding of another living soul in the Devil's Pithfork would be considered a "survivor". Survivor to what?

Jim stepped through the swinging doors of the local saloon. His right hand hanging with implied purpose near his holstered weapon. Whatever was behind the mass disappearence of an entire town would not count him as one of it's "victims".

Not without a fight, at any rate.

"Hello?" called out Jim West, as the one-word query fell like a thudding body within the acoustically-deprived all wood interior of said bar. "Anyone here?"

Hearing no response, which he really did not expect, Jim began his search of the first floor of the two-floor structure, in an attempt, albeit a possible vain one, to find anything that would shed light upon what had happened to this town.

First, Jim West searched behind the bar. Looking for any sign of a victim or struggle. All he found was a short selection of whiskey bottles. None of which bore the slightest hint of being unused or unmoved for any length of time exceeding a complete day.

Sucn was when he decided to expand his search to the rear room, which was being used as storage...

There came a loud noise off to Jim's right, along with the glimpse, out of the corner of his eye, of something or someone rapidly running away.

Drawing his weapon, swiftly and smoothly, Jim quickly dashed to the side of the rear room where the sound had originated, and where the glimpse of someone running away was detected via his 20/20 vision.

As he made it to that area of the rear room, he saw yet another example of something being overturned. Quite probably on purpose. This time it was a crate of whiskey that had been resting atop a second, but was now lying upon its side upon the wood floor.

Such was when he made a rather startling discovery...

There was no place for someone to exit the rear room or the building. The walls were as solid as the floor. But such suggested, to an agent who had seen trap doors and trick walls many times during his stint as such, that there could indeed be a secret exit from said room upon the first of two floors in the saloon.

Such would be when the first discovery would be made by Jim West...

"Ooff!"

A trap door opened beneath his booted feet. Dropping him fast and sure from the saloon's ground floor to something beneath the ground. Beneath the bar. Quite probably something that ran the width and breadth of the entire empty town.

All while Artemus Gordon carried out his search of the buildings on the opposite side of the dirt street. Feeling that something might be wrong, Artemus stepped out onto the wooden sidewalk and called out for his partner and fast friend...

"Jim? You find anything? Jim? Jim!"

Suddenly, a sick feeling, in the pit of Artemus' stomach, told him that this strangely silent, and empty, town had just claimed another victim...

Special Secret Service Agent James West.


	4. Chapter 4

Jim West finally regained consciousness, and found himself in a locked cage hanging several feet above the dirt floor.

Where was he? The last thing he remembered was falling through a trap door in the wood floor of a storage room in the back of a desserted saloon.

Slowly standing, even as such movements caused the cage to sway back and forth, Jim gripped the bars as if to test their strength. Whilst already know that they were unbendable by any normal man...

"Come out where I can see you," called Jim even as he noted that the mouth of an underground dirt tunnel ran perpendicular to this underground room. "Show yourself."

There was a single set of hands clapping slowly from inside the perpendicular tunnel. Whoever was responsible for this was about to show himself to James West...

"Very good, Mr. West," came a very familiar high-pitched voice nearing this underground room, hands still slowly clapping in what Jim now knew to be a sarcastic fashion. "As always, you don't let anything 'rattle your cage'."

Having made that pun, the approaching person laughed maniacally. Even before he stepped out into the available light, which Jim now noticed came from a couple of lit lanterns to either side of said underground room, Jim knew who it was...

"It's been a long time, Dr. Loveless."

Dr. Miguelito Quixote Loveless then strode in with his usual air of superiority to any and all people, but most especially to this person now standing in the hanging cage.

"Congratulations, Mr. West," he said even as he stopped clapping and stood as well-dressed as always with a small cane propped against the dirt floor, even though he didn't need it to walk or stand. "Then again, as many times as you've heard my voice, it was no real feat to detect my identity before seeing me. Now, why not start with some questions. I'm sure you have more than a few."

"What have you done with the people of this town, Loveless?"

"Excellent, Mr. West. Direct and to the point," Dr. Loveless stated succintly and with a certainty that more than bordered on the megalomaniacal. "They are all still alive and well...for the moment. I have them in cages spread through the underground rooms connected by tunnels such as the one from which I just emerged. It was a simple thing to have my collegues build trap doors into the rear rooms of every building along the main street of this quaint little room with the deceptively evil little name."

"Why?" came yet another direct query, of the single-word, single-syllable variety, from the caged man in blue still swaying in his hanging cell.

"Because, my long-time enemy," began Dr. Loveless as he began to walk about the underground room, gesturing with his cane as he spoke. "It came to my attention that there is a rich vein of uranium running the length and width of this town of Devil's Pitchfork. Uranium which I could use to build more than one atomic bomb, which I would then leave in various cities, such as Washington, D.C. and New York, in order to extort huge sums of money to spare them, and then...not."

"Did you try to buy the rights to the uranium mines from the inhabitants of this town? I'm sure they would've taken it, considering that its a small town of obvious lack of personal and professional funds."

"Now why would I do that, Mr. West," the smirking Dr. Loveless said with some delight to the apparently helpless James West in the free-hanging cage. "When it was much easier, for me, to pay a group of down-on-their-luck cowboys to help capture the people much cheaper. And much more fun."

Dr. Loveless laughed in a high-pitched laugh that denoted the depths of evil to which this pint-sized person could, and would, go to obtain that which he desired so intently. Then he said...

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to overseeing the mining currently being done by a handful of Devil's Pitchfork persons I have released from hanging cages, in order to do my bidding via hard labor. But do make yourself comfortable, Mr. West. Yes, do."

Laughing madly once more, and twirling his cane as he walked, Dr. Miguelito Loveless slowly-but-surely exited this underground room via the adjacent tunnel, clearly linking up to other underground rooms and connecting tunnels.

Which was just the thing that Jim West was waiting for, so he could go into action and get out of this hanging cage...

Reaching up to the lapel of his blue bolero-style jacket, West pulled out a universal lock-pick. Which he then used, with precise hand movements and nerves of steel, thus keeping his hands steady and certain, to unlock the steel-bar door and drop down the few feet necessary to stand upon the dirt floor of this first of several underground rooms.

Then, sans his holstered weapon that Dr. Loveless had clearly removed during his short stint of unconsciousness, Jim West made a mad dash through the adjoining tunnel in order to catch up with Miguelito...

Just as he caught up with the wee man, he found himself in a larger underground room which was clearly part of the uranium mine. Being tended to be enslaved citizenry of Devil's Pitchfork, with several of Dr. Loveless' armed men enforcing Miguelito's law...

"Kill him!" shouted Dr. Loveless from the other side of the large underground room-mine, standing at the mouth of yet another tunnel connecting to other room-mines. "Don't let him escape!"

Faced with several-against-one, Jim fell back on his brand of unarmed fighting to best the armed men attacking him. Sending them to the dirt floor in unconscious heaps, as the Devil's Pitchfork citizens-turned-slaves realized what Jim would tell them in a confident tone...

"You're all free! Go on, get out of here...while you can!"

Sure enough, the no-longer-enslaved individuals, men and women alike, made their way hurriedly out through both interconnecting tunnels.

While James West chased after Dr. Miguelito Loveless, intent upon bringing the little man down...or at least destroy his plans for the uranium, the way Jim had destroyed other outlandish, overzealous plans of the past.

Eventually catching up to Dr. Loveless, after having fought his way free of other armed men in the little man's employment...

"You've run out of tunnels, Loveless," said Jim West, as he faced down the evil genius, apparently without a weapon. "Might as well give up, and make things easier."

"I think not, Mr. West," snarled Dr. Loveless, as he produced a derringer from his vest pocket, aimed straight at Jim. "At last, I will have the last word."

Before Dr. Miguelito Loveless could fire, while West held up his hands in apparent surrender, he twitched the forearm of his right hand and released the sleeve gun, also a derringer, in order to fire quickly, and with absolute accuracy...

"Ouch!"

Effectively knocking the derringer in Dr. Loveless' hand out, to go skidding along the dirt floor, while Miguelito winced in continued pain from the well-placed shot.

"Damn you, Mr. West!" exclaimed the enraged Dr. Loveless, as he turned and ran, as fast as his little legs could carry him, to disappear through yet another room and tunnel.

Leaving Jim West a little lost in this vast town-sized underground uranium mine, even as the sleeve gun was retracted as quickly as it had been extended.

So all he could do, now that the townspeople were saved from slavery, and the remaining armed men scattered by the overwhelming number of freed forced uranium miners, was find someplace that led topside and find Artemus Gordon again.

Hours later, back aboard the waiting 4-4-0 train, the two now bathed and redressed Artemus and James West were happy to entertain two lovely ladies who were ancious to thank the duo for their salvation.

"How about some more champagne, ladies?" asked Artemus, even as he and Jim drank in more of the expensive French champagne, along with the lovely ladies. "Let's toast to your liberation from a little man with larger-than-life ideas."

"And," interjected Jim West with his trademark smile, reserved for women such as these, "to that little man's apparent departure from the Devil's Pitchfork."

The clinking of glasses preceded the drinking of the fine champagne, as four individuals settled in for an equally eloquent gourmet meal.

Which would, hopefully, lead to an even more appreciative kissing with these two luxiously lovely ladies.


End file.
